


Name in my Veins

by DaniStormborn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniStormborn/pseuds/DaniStormborn
Summary: Josie and Gadreel shared a tender, intimate moment before all Hell breaks lose with the boys.------“Josephine . . .! Don’t tease me!” He growled, and she bit down on her bottom lip again. She loved it when he got so irritated or pent-up he used her full name! The boys called her “Josie”, never “Josephine”. When Gadreel did it, it took her back. To Versailles, Tuileries. To Westminster, Alhambra, Castello di Miramare, and the Red Fort. To so many places she missed.
Relationships: Gadreel (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s)





	Name in my Veins

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm definitely working on an expanded piece pertaining to these characters, but for right now, I had this little two-shot that absolutely REFUSED to leave my mind. So I typed it out and smacked it on here. Have some delicious fun with a Gadreel smut piece. 
> 
> As always, leave a kudos and a review! They sustain me during the long, cold winters.
> 
> \-- DaniStormborn
> 
> Cast List:  
> Josie: Jessica Szohr

* * *

Sometimes -- times like these, for instance -- she _loved_ having the bunker all to herself. Times when she could walk around in just her underwear, pigging out, with all the wine and beer she wanted. Times when she could experiment with her spells and potions without worrying about earning a disapproving glare from Sam or Dean (after her last potion ended up making the kitchen smell like rotten eggs for a month, the boys _forbid_ any future potion experimenting). Sometimes, she would disappear into the many numerous vaults, cataloging what they had or otherwise on the hunt for something she . . . didn’t exactly know what. Sometimes, she spent so long there, one of the boys had to come find her, concerned that they hadn’t met her on their return.

That was one of those times. She was deep in vault twenty, in one of the farthest, darkest corners. She had picked up where she left off on her cataloging. She was on cabinet eight, shelf four, documenting yet _another_ dybbuk box (Seriously!? _Fourteen_ dybbuk boxes in the bunker?! Why the excess?), when the door to the vault opened.

“Josie, you in here?”

She smiled at hearing Sam’s voice and finished jotting down her notes. “Yeah, I’m back here.”

She heard him near and looked up right when he joined her. He smiled upon sight of her. It was a smile she readily returned. “Yay! You’re back! How was it?” She asked as she rose to her feet and lunged for him. Sam chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. Relief suffused her at seeing him back safe and sound. Although, to be honest and fair, it wasn’t Sam she was having to worry about lately.

Judging by the tautness of Sam’s voice when he spoke, it hadn’t exactly gone as smoothly as he would have hoped. His hands clenched momentarily on her arms as they stepped apart. “Yeah, it, um . . . Dean’s not . . . he’s having trouble.”

“Trouble?” She asked, brows furrowing, and he nodded.

“Yeah. The talisman you made for him worked a little, but, I don’t know. I don’t know if the mark is too strong or if magic doesn’t affect it, but . . .” His lips pursed. “It was a little above ineffective.”

“Fuck!” She muttered, running her fingers through her hair, and Sam nodded. “Where is he?” 

“The garage. Trying to blow off some steam.” A look of concern flickering through his gaze. “Are you going to talk to him?”

“Well, yeah, I mean . . .” She trailed off, throwing her hands up in the air. “What else should I do?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak but closed it, ultimately at a loss for words. He sent her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.” He apologized and she shook her head, her hand flying to his shoulder. Broad and strong beneath her palm, he was warm. She smiled.

“Don’t apologize, Sam. This whole mark thing has got all of us running on fumes. I’ll talk to him. See if there’s . . . anything else I can do for him. There’s got to be something!”

Sam nodded and followed her from the vault. He waited outside while she deposited her notebook in the necessary place, cut off the lights, and closed the door behind them. She didn’t bother to lock the door knowing it was safe with them there. “You hungry? I was gonna make some dinner.” Sam spoke, and she nodded.

“Yeah, I can eat. We’ll meet you in the kitchen in a sec.”

Sam nodded and they parted ways. Sam headed for the kitchen while Josie, centuries’ old witch (her true age was her secret at this point), headed towards the garage and Dean. As she walked, she thought, contemplating on where her talisman could have gone wrong. How the Mark of Cain could have overcome it, neutralized it, or overpowered it. Really, she wouldn’t know exactly what went wrong until she had the talisman in her possession and could study it. That required talking to Dean. Something that had become harder and harder as the Mark’s chokehold became tighter.

She entered the garage, finding him bent over the Impala. It was mainly for show. Something to keep his hands occupied while he thought. The Impala didn’t need any work and they both knew it. Sitting beside the Impala was her own red and black 1972 Ford Gran Torino. If he _really_ wanted to work on a car, her oil could have used changing, and he knew it.

“Glad you’re back!” She called, trying to sound cheerful, as she made her way over to him. He glanced at her over his shoulder before returning his attention back to the Impala. He grunted in acknowledgment of her. “How did it go?”

“It went.”

She nodded, releasing a hum at his curt words. Her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Anything happen you want to talk about?”

“Did Sam send you?” He asked, anger filling his tone as he threw a motor-oil stained clothe down on the Impala’s motor before whirling around to face her. He stalked over to her, his gaze stormy. She sent him a look.

“He didn’t have to.” She soothed, reaching out for him. He darted around her hands, and they returned to her. “He found me in one of the vaults and said something had happened. I took it _upon_ myself to come down and talk to you.” 

Dean nodded as he turned and headed towards one of his workbenches. He began digging through the tools. “I might have gotten a little carried away.” He finally admitted. Josie released a long breath and nodded.

“Okay . . .” She spoke, evenly. She took a couple steps towards him. “What happened?”

Dean shrugged. His back remained to her. “I had him, Josie! I was _this close_ to getting Metatron’s location out of him, but . . .” He trailed off, his head shaking from side to side. “They took Cas. We had to make an exchange. If not, Cas could have . . .!” He left the remaining words unsaid. They both know what would have happened.

“You had who?” She asked, and Dean turned to face her.

“Who else? Gadreel.”

Cold suffused her being. She swallowed hard as her head rose. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Gadreel?” She repeated, through numbed lips, and Dean nodded. His hand had curled into a fist on the workbench.

“I had him, Josie. He was _begging_ me to kill him!”

Josie’s knees felt rubberized. Her heart jumped up into her throat. It was hard for her to breathe. “You, uh . . . got him good, hopefully?”

Dean nodded, his hand fishing around in his front jeans pocket. “Yeah. Fucker got what he deserved.” His hand withdrew and without thinking, she held out her hand. He dropped into her palm an intricately designed leather pouch. The talisman she had given him before he left. The talisman she had been _sure_ would help stave off the larger part of the Mark’s influences. A fat lot of help that did. “Here. Sam told you didn’t work?”

She nodded, numbly, as her hand returned to her. She pressed her closed fist against her chest, where her heart slammed against her ribcage. Fear suffused her. It made her mouth taste like copper.

“I’ll . . . figure out what happened.” She spoke, lamely, as she began backing off towards the door. She gave him a tremulous smile. “Sam has dinner on.”

“Josie, wait --!”

His hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, keeping her in place. She swallowed hard, certain he could feel the rapid ticking of her pulse in her wrist. The look he sent her was almost heartbreaking. It was an amalgamation of sadness, regret, guilt. “I’m sorry. For everything. You know I don't mean to be this way. Not to _you_!”

Her smile widened somewhat. She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it!” She spoke, trying to inject some cheerfulness into her voice. The end product was something that fell kind of flat. Mechanical. His brows furrowed slightly and her pulse raced again as she hurried to correct her mistake. “I mean – we’ve all been under so much stress lately! We’re all exhausted -- we’re all _mentally_ exhausted! Hell, sometimes I feel like I’m going to cry, or scream, or run the fuck away – I don’t know!” She laughed lightly. Dean nodded, his brows relaxing. The pad of his thumb encircled the delicate bones of her wrist and he stepped closer.

He avoided his gaze. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t see that emotion that filled his gaze when he looked at her. “Josie, look, I --!”

“I’m gonna get started on the talisman, okay?” She squeaked, pulling herself free from him. She began quickly backpedaling towards the door. “Tell Sammy I’ll be a little late for dinner, okay?”

Dean nodded, feeling utterly confused, as she turned and quickly left the garage. “The fuck was that about?” He muttered to himself.

* * *

She made a pit stop at her room first from the garage. She grabbed up her leather messenger bag and shoved whatever she thought she’d need in it. Slinging it over her shoulder, she darted over to her desk. Just in case one of the boys came in wanting to know where she was, she wrote a quick note telling them she was making a grocery run. Her heart felt heavy in her mouth. Panic continued to suffuse her system. Leaving her room, she walked quickly back to the garage. Dean was, luckily and conspicuously absent when she entered. Twirling her key ring around a finger, she approached her Gran Torino. Opening the door, she threw her bag on to the passenger seat before getting in. Heedless of Dean re-entering the garage as she sped off for the entrance, beer in his hands, she missed the utterly confounded look on his face as he watched her go.

Once hitting the highway, she allowed her panic to vent. Screaming, she slammed her palms down onto the steering wheel as the needle on the speedometer climber higher. “Fuck!” She screamed, holding the note a little longer than she had previously. “FuckfuckFUCK!”

This calmed her to the point where she could think semi-rationally again. Dean knew what he was doing, but he obviously didn’t kill him – he had told her as much. Knowing him as well as she did, Gadreel wouldn’t return to Metatron immediately. He would wait for his wounds to heal. He would wait until he was back at full power before confronting his “boss”. She knew where he’d be. He’d be waiting for her in their secret spot . . . their “garden”.

She drove for what seemed like eons, when really, it could have only been about half an hour. Tires screeching, she slung her muscle car into the gravel lot, fish-tailing wildly at first until she brought the power of the car back under rein. Gravel and dust flew up from her tires as she all but gunned for the side door of the abandoned warehouse. She pulled to a stop and after turning off the car and grabbing up her bag, all but ran inside.

The metal door slammed behind her as she took off at a trot down the shadowy corridor. “Gadreel?” She called, panic and fear filling her voice and feeling hot and acidic on her tongue. She darted and looked inside various rooms, praying he would answer. Relief washed over her when he did. She followed his voice and found him in one of the back rooms, not the usual one they met in. He had hunched his giant six plus frame over a dusty crate. He was bloody and bruised. He glanced at her before spitting a wad of blood onto the crate. He was breathing heavily. His left arm was wrapped around his middle. A look of pain flickered across his face but he turned his head, trying to hide it from her.

“ _Fuck_!” She muttered, feeling the prick of tears in her eyes. Her hands flew to her mouth for a moment before they lowered. Her voice shook as she spoke. “Dean did this to you?”

It took a second, but Gadreel nodded. He glanced at her. “Would you mind . . . helping me?”

She nodded. She pulled her bag higher up on her shoulder and darted over to him. She pulled his arm around her shoulders and he leaned on her as she slowly, painstakingly helped him into the next room. He all but collapsed onto the couch there with a groan, and she tried her best to soften the landing.

“Fuck.” She muttered as she knelt down beside him. Her hands hovered over him, her expression pained. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She never knew how to help him. He was an angel, technically a Seraphim. His wounds healed on their own given time, but still! She hated seeing him in pain. She hated not really being able to _help him_! “Gadreel, what do I do?”

“Nothing. It just helps that you’re here.” He spoke, giving her a weak smile. She returned the smile before leaning over him. The tips of her fingers made gently contact with his face as she kissed him softly. When she broke apart, he scooched over a little so that she could sit on the couch beside him. Her head shook. Her lips pursed.

“I hate that this happened to you! He can’t . . . he can’t control himself right now!” She spoke, weakly, lamely. Frustration filled her voice. The Mark of Cain’s influence was an excuse and they both knew it. The fact of the matter was that Gadreel was an enemy. Metatron, who he worked for, was a _dangerous_ enemy! She had seen what Dean had done to their enemies and monsters in the past, and compared to what he had done to Alastair and countless others, he had gone _easy_ on Gadreel! Still, she was with the enemy right now. She could only imagine the rage that would fill him if Dean knew.

“I’ll be fine!” He soothed. “I just . . . got to wait for everything to heal.”

She shook her head, ignoring his words as her hand fiddled around in her bag for the talisman she had given Dean. “I made a talisman for him before he left. I felt for _sure_ it would stave off the worst of the Mark! But it didn’t. According to Sam, it did absolutely fucking nothing!”

Withdrawing the leather bag, she cupped it in her palm for a minute before her hand closed tightly around it. “ _Fuck_!” She screamed out through gritted teeth, feeling absolutely infuriated at herself. _How_ long had she been a witch? She had trained under all the great masters – John Dee, Lucretia Borgia, and Gianna Piazza among countless others. And she couldn’t even remove or buffer a fucking _curse_?

Gadreel chuckled, sensing her fury. His chuckling brought her attention back onto him. His eyebrows were raised. There was a wry smile on his face. “Have I ever told you that you curse? _A lot_?”

She ducked her head, suddenly feeling sheepish. She replaced the talisman in her bag. “Sorry. It’s what I get for being around John and the boys for so long!” She returned her gaze onto him. “I was worried. Suppose I shouldn’t have been, right?”

Gadreel shook his head. “I’ve been dealt worse – I’ll be fine. The horrors Dean could inflict on me are nothing compared to what I dealt with while imprisoned.” She shook her head. Her mouth opened, prepared to protest his words, however, he interrupted her. “You know . . . we can do things if you want.” Gadreel spoke, a small smile playing on his face. Her expression relaxed slightly as he continued. One of his hands came up to rest on her thigh. “But . . .!” He winced and released a low groan as a muscle in his side pulled tight before relaxing. “You’ll have to do most of the work, I’m afraid. I don’t think I’ll be much help.”

Josie sent him admonishing smile. “Gadreel, I don’t think --!” She stopped herself when his brows arched higher. Sighing, she rolled her eyes and laughed. “Fine! Is that your way of telling me you want me to have my naughty way with you?”

His smile broadened. “I won’t _ever_ tell you _not_ to ride me, Josie! If I ever do, I’m being impersonated.”

She laughed again and shook her head. “Utterly incorrigible! O’, what monster have I created?” She teasingly lamented before glancing up at him. His gaze was hooded, lazy. The hand on her thigh squeezed for a minute before the thumb drew soft, loving circles into her inner thigh. She fought to keep herself from smiling as she shook her head again. “ _Stop_! You’re hurt!”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing that won’t eventually heal.”

She sat there, thinking, teeth worrying at the inside of her cheek. She wanted him – _God_ , she _always_ wanted Gadreel! But he _was_ hurt! Dean and done a number on him, that was for sure! And while it was true that he _would_ heal, eventually, until that happened, she didn’t necessarily want to prolong the pain. Open up any of his wounds, that kind of thing. But the hand on her thigh had moved up to her hip. His thumb had found its way beneath her tank, the callused pad rubbing circles along her flesh. She shivered and instinctively shifted closer to him. She shook her head and released a breathy laugh.

“Gadreel, I don’t --!”

He interrupted her by hooking his other hand around the back of her neck. He brought her down and captured her mouth with his. It was heady. Raw. Devouring. She felt his tongue fill her mouth and _fuck_ , the things he made her feel! The way his slightest touch twisted her insides into knots, was mind-boggling! She had felt things with Benny, small things. Gadreel, though . . . _fuck_! She melted against him, fighting the urge to moan wantonly into his mouth, knowing that would be giving in to what he wanted. Which she _still_ wasn’t sure was the right thing given his current state!

It took effort. But eventually, she managed to get herself under control. She chuckled and reluctantly pulled away, breaking their kiss. He allowed her to go, but she could tell he disliked it intensely. “Why do you always get horny when you’ve been wounded or you’ve gotten the shit beaten out of you?”

He gave another shrug. “Just gives us something to do while I heal, right? And besides . . .” He gave a sheepish grin. “I’m an angel – I’m immortal. What are you gonna do? Fuck me to death?” He leaned forward again, trying to capture her lips with his. She danced out of his way, causing him to growl. “ _Or_ . . .!” He added, pointedly. “Maybe I just like how good you are to me when I’m hurt.”

“Maybe you’ve acquired a taste for gentle sex?” She murmured, grinning. Her lips were inches from his; her breath skated across his lips. He arched a brow, trying hard not to show how much this banter was affecting him. That was a joke! They both knew what tastes he had acquired since claiming the fiery little witch for his lover. You didn’t become the mistress of countless Kings and _not_ acquire a love of sex!

"Maybe . . . or maybe I just like sex with _you_!”

She bit down on her bottom lip before allowing him to capture her lips again. The kiss was softer this time, but no less heady. His hand came up to bury in her hair as he deepened the contact. After a minute, her hand landed on his throat and she pushed him gently back against the couch. He opened his mouth to protest in irritation, but her actions stopped him. “Fine! You’ve convinced me!” She sighed before rising to her feet.

“Not that you needed much convincing, right?” He asked.

She sent him a look. “You didn’t manipulate my mind, did you?”

“No.” He spoke, smiling. “Just prayed.”

“Oh, really?” She asked, brow arched in amusement. Her hands appeared on her hips. “You prayed that I would agree to have sex with you?”

“Father’s heard worse.”

She released a bark of laughter. “Undoubtedly!” She agreed as she toed off her black converses. She then began taking off her clothes. She slipped out of her leather jacket and pulled her black tank over her head before her hands fell to the button of her jeans. She shimmied the dark denim down her legs before kicking it into the nearby pile of her clothes. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her wine-colored nipples pebbled in the chill air of the warehouse. Her thumbs hooked into the elastic black lace waistband of her panties. She teased him by flirting with the motion of shucking them off like she had her jeans but in the end, didn’t. His jaw hardened and he shook his head.

“Josephine . . .! Don’t tease me!” He growled, and she bit down on her bottom lip again. She loved it when he got so irritated or pent-up he used her full name! The boys called her “Josie”, never “Josephine”. When Gadreel did it, it took her back. To Versailles, Tuileries. To Westminster, Alhambra, Castello di Miramare, and the Red Fort. To so many places she missed.

She covered her breasts with her hands and winked. “You’re a little too clothed, there, Gadreel. Makes me feel bashful!”

He rolled his eyes (in well-hidden amusement, she noticed) before he began pulling off his own clothes. He unzipped and removed his hoodie before he pulled his shirt over his head. She licked her lips at the sight of his chest, broad and muscled. He quickly toed off his own shoes as his hands flew to his jeans. Her hand landing gently on his stopped him.

“Stop. Allow me!” She purred, Gadreel fighting to keep his gaze on hers and not her breasts in his face. She sent him a coy smile and quickly began undoing his jeans. She pulled them down his legs, pausing in apprehension and concern when he hissed in pain upon them catching on a ragged laceration on his thigh. When the pain retracted its claws and slunk back into the shadows, he nodded.

“You’re good.” He murmured. “Just . . . gently? Please?”

She smiled, nodded, and resumed removing his jeans at a more careful pace. When they had joined the rest of their growing pile of clothes, leaving him in just his boxer-briefs, she had to pause. His arousal was evident in the prominent bulge he was sporting and she had to stop to will her heartrate back down to normal levels. _Jesus Christ, girl, get yourself together_! She scolded herself. _It’s just a guy_!

But it _wasn’t_ a guy! Not technically, anyway. Not like Sam and Dean were guys. Not like John had been a guy. It was _Gadreel_! The _angel_ Gadreel that shit on the entire party by allowing Lucifer into the Garden. The Gadreel that made her feel things she hadn’t felt in centuries. The Gadreel whose touch lit her on fire. The Gadreel who, at the mere _thought_ of his cock, made her salivate like a dog with a fucking bone! There was no “getting herself together” when it came to this man! A fact that was painfully obvious whenever she was around him.

“Hey . . .!” She felt his hand take hers, and her gaze shot onto his. His brows had furrowed in slight concern. Her heart twisted. He was so kind -- so _good_! “You okay? We don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.”

The truth was that Gadreel scared her sometimes. Not like he scared other angels and demons. Like he sometimes scared the boys. The depth of her feelings for him was what scared her. The way he made her feel -- the way he made her _body_ feel -- sometimes scared her. There would be times after a particularly powerful orgasm that he’d hold her afterwards and she would feel an almost overwhelming desire to _run_! To run as fast and as far away from him as she could. No man – no _being_ – should make her feel so much pleasure in one sitting. Right?

She _thought_ she loved him? The thought of anything happening to him terrified her to the bone. It made her want to spontaneously break down into sobs. Hell, she had almost had a panic attack driving to him just now! Was that what love was?

After a moment of having a minor existential crises, she smiled and nodded. “No, everything’s fine! Sorry, I just . . . I don’t know what happened!” She laughed before leaning down and framing his face with her be-ringed hands. “I do want this, Gadreel. I want _you_!”

He nodded as she stood back up. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties before she shed them. She stood bare before him and he groaned at the sight of her as he allowed his eyes to wander her. He watched as she moved to straddle his lower legs. Her fingers curled into the waistband of his own underwear. His breath hitched and he lifted his hips to help her as she pulled them down his legs. His erection sprang free, long, thick, and delightfully hard. She hummed out a sound of appreciation as she pushed her shoulder-length hair behind her ears and bent over him. Her lips wrapped around his cockhead. He groaned and allowed his head to fall back, his hands curling into fists against the sides of the couch. Slowly, she swallowed him, worshipful. She moaned around him, the sounds sending vibrations down his cock from root to tip. Already, his breath pulled ragged from his lungs. One of his broad hands came up to bury in her hair. His palm cupped the back of her head before slowly curling into a fist in her hair. She melted against him, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, her pace increasing. Her hand came up to stroke the remaining inches she couldn’t fit in her mouth.

“Josie, please . . .!” He begged. His voice came strangled from his throat. His hips rocked gently into her mouth. “Fuck . . .! Josie, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop!”

Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. _Go the fuck ahead_! Her expression read, mirth and mischief accompanying it. He released a breathless laugh. Fine, then. Father be damned if he wouldn’t oblige her!

Her pace increased further. He felt his orgasm built rapidly. A groan rumbled deep in his chest and she watched as his eyes glowed blue. She loved watching him come. She _lived_ for catching that ever-so-brief glimpse of what he really was tucked away inside his vessel (even though the vessel wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes!). She moaned around him again and her eyes closed as his hips bucked sharply upwards. She withdrew from him slightly. Her lips wrapped around his head and her hand stroked him as he came in her mouth. Behind her closed eyes, the light in the room brightened. As her mouth filled with his come, she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of the shadow of Gadreel’s wings spread out across the couch and floor beneath them.

She was in the process of swallowing when she felt his hands curl around her arms. With an effortlessness that constantly surprised her, he pulled her upwards along his body as if she weighed nothing more than a scrap of paper. One of his hands curled around the base of her neck as his mouth caught hers. Hungrily. Desperately. His tongue filled her mouth again the same moment she felt him stir against her thigh. She grinned, long used to Gadreel’s superhuman stamina.

“I want you, Josie . . .!” He breathed against her lips. He held her close as she hastily adjusted herself atop him. She reached down between them and grasped him. She lined him up with her opening as he added: “I want to be inside you . . .!”

She moaned softly at his words, her cunt so wet he slipped in with almost no resistance. He shuddered violently while a soft “Fuck!” spilled from her lips. Slowly, her hips moved against him, sliding along his length. Her hands planted on his chest as she rose off him. _Fuck, this is perfect!_ She thought, feeling his hands wrap around her waist, urging her pace to quicken before they left her. His hands moved to cup her breasts and her hands rose to cover his, keeping them in place.

A knot coiled tight like a serpent in her stomach as she rode him. She shifted her hips ever-so-slightly and found the _perfect_ angle that resulted in a cry every time she slid him in and out of her all-too willing body. Gadreel matched her pace with his own hips. They lifted in time with hers – his cock sliding deep with each thrust. The constant slide over her g-spot made her pace increase. She moaned his name as he rose up. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close against him. Her fingers came up to card through his hair. Her lips met his hairline and he shuddered against her. So much for not being able to do anything!

Gadreel’s hands pulled and grasped at her as if he couldn’t have her close enough to him. “ _Josie_ . . .!” He growled, her name settling like warmth in her bones spoken on his deep baritone. His thrusts become more erratic. He buried his face into the crook of her neck. He inhaled, loving how she smelled like the earth. Like gardenias, oleander, and rosemary. His lips and teeth caught her skin, nibbling and soothing in equal measure. Josie cried out when his teeth sunk down with particular pressure, sure to leave a mark. She’d have to deal with that later. She could always remove Gadreel’s marks from her body with magic, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to keep them. Yet, on the flipside, she couldn’t let the boys see them. That’d lead to too many awkward, unnecessary, and, quite frankly, _dangerous_ questions!

She felt him swell inside her. His cock twitched and throbbed. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, her back arching as the pressure inside her quickly approached the breaking point. Gadreel trailed a path of kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. He pressed kisses to her breasts before he drew a tight nipple between his lips. With his teeth he tugged on it and her hands tightened on him. Her nails dug into the flesh of his vessel’s shoulders.

“Gadreel . . .! Gadreel, _please_ . . .!” She whimpered, begging, as her cunt pulled tight around him. She clutched his shoulders as he drew her right to the edge. Then, the coiling, serpent-like knot in her stomach snapped. The pressure inside her released, almost violently. She screamed out his name as the walls of her sex clamped down around his throbbing length. Her body shuddered as liquid hot warmth coursed through her body like lava.

He groaned out her own name upon reaching his peak. Once again, the shadow of his wings unfurled beneath them as his eyes glowed blue. She whimpered as his cock pulsed, filling her with ribbon after ribbon of come. Her name fell from his lips again, this time as a whisper. She continued riding him, milking him for all his worth. His grasp on her loosened. His hands moved to rest against the small of her back. Slowly, as he sank back against the couch, taking her with him, she came to a stop. The only sound between them the heaviness of their breathing as they tried desperately to catch their breaths.

After a moment, she pushed herself off his chest. Slowly, she slid herself off him, the two of them shuddering at the feel. She began gathering up her clothes while Gadreel lay there, contemplative. "I don't mean to love you and leave you, but I've got to go." She spoke, quietly. "I, uh . . . when I left, I kind of did so panicked? I half-assed it. The boys are probably wondering where I am." She sighed and muttered: "Especially with how Dean is acting right now."

"He loves you."

The words were spoken bluntly, deadpan. Josie glanced over at Gadreel. He returned her gaze, interest filling his gaze. She laughed a little and shrugged. She pulled her tank top over her head. "I guess you could say that."

"For how long?"

She paused, thinking, as she pulled on her panties. "Since Benny? Maybe. I don't know." She shrugged again. "Benny was when I first noticed. But he never said anything on account of Benny being his friend."

"He would not . . . look favorably on our relationship?"

She scoffed a laugh as she hopped up and pulled on her jeans. Spread out before her, unabashed in his nudity, Josie had to fight to keep herself on the question instead of on how very badly she wanted to jump him again. "That is a understatement! I think it's safe to say he would shit a whole brick house. That's a metaphor, by the way. Humans do not actually shit brick houses when they're angry." She spoke as she leaned over and kissed him. He nodded as she sat back down and began pulling on her shoes.

"I know that!" He spoke, a little offended. "Does it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"That he wouldn't approve of us? That he loves you?"

Josie stopped and turned to face him. "What's with the questions?" Gadreel shrugged, and Josie sighed. She ran her fingers through her hair. "The him loving me part, no. I've been alive for a very long time, Gadreel. I've grown long used to being the object of unrequited love for people. The approval?" She swallowed hard. "He barely approved of me and Benny. I got used to it." 

Gadreel nodded, even though she really didn't answer his question. "It might take me a moment until we can meet again." He spoke, and Josie nodded.

"I know. We have to be careful."

He nodded. "I'll let you know when I can meet."

She smiled and leaned over. Their lips met in another soft, lingering kiss. When they broke apart, she nuzzled him. "I love you."

He inhaled sharply. His hand came up to cup her head, to hold her close. "I love you, too." He murmured, ghosting the words over her lips. 

_Fuck_. She thought, with some bemusement. _I've lived for a long time. What's the worst that could happen_?


End file.
